


Lover's Eyes

by Ninjathrowingstork, SpockPandaSaurus (xxpanda92xx)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everything after Winter Soldier and Daredevil s1 never happens, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanoff is alive, Not Canon Compliant, Old Fic, Protective Natasha Romanov, author disregards all canon after 2015, sparring buddies, sparring buddies to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 04:26:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjathrowingstork/pseuds/Ninjathrowingstork, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpanda92xx/pseuds/SpockPandaSaurus
Summary: While chasing down a possible lead on Cap's lost friend, Natasha Romanoff instead finds another vigilante dispensing his own brand of justice in New York.  As she learns more about him, Nat realizes how much having friends in the business matters, and resolves to not let this new hero fight the world by himself.





	1. Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> The two of us started writing this in the spring of 2015 after Daredevil first came out, then hit a wall and lost interest after Ultron came out. Four years later, I finally gave it the ending both characters deserve. Because Matt deserved more support from other friends in the business, and Nat deserved to live and find happiness gdi. 
> 
> I refuse to admit anything after Winter Soldier happened that changed Nat's character, and its' still the heyday of everyone living or hanging out in the Tower and going on missions together.

Caring was not a disadvantage. She'd learned it years ago, and was still reminded of it every day, every time she worked with this new, crazy team. Keeping an eye on Stark had been a favor for Fury, but after New York and the fall of SHIELD, they were as close to family as anything she'd had in a long time. They had her back, and she'd do anything for them in return. Which is why Natasha Romanoff was speeding through New York on a borrowed motorcycle in the direction of of Hell's Kitchen on the way to a team party at the tower. Ok, it wasn't technically "on the way", so much as it was a favor for Rogers, and dammit if that man couldn't combine patriotic righteousness with the pathos of a kicked puppy. She could even hear the puppy eyes in his voice over the radio earlier. Ever since he'd learned his childhood friend was still alive, he'd been investigating any possible lead for the wherabouts of James Barnes, and enlisting the help of anyone he could persuade to make "just one trip" for him.

Recently, there had been reports of a new vigilante with extraordinary fighting abilities coming out of Hell's Kitchen, and Rogers had spent the past week piecing together the news stories and accounts of the Devil's activities, but had been called away on a mission before closing that file.

"Please, Romanoff, I know it's not him. Th-the build and the style, they're all off, but he's still an unknown factor, and with the timing and, well, we don't know anything about him, and he might know something, anything, about Bucky."

So there she was, speeding through the night on Stark's motorcycle to investigate a new masked crime fighter in an old neighborhood that had been recently swept by a wave of explosions and mob unrest. It would be just another Saturday night back in Russia, then, but this was New York, and she could be back at the tower catching up with Barton by now. If this is what having friends meant, though, then she'd stay out all night tracking this man down and see Barton tomorrow.

It wasn't too hard, really, to hunt down the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Sure, there was more than one back alley fight going on late at night, but there was only one that had one man knocking down a bunch of thugs, instead of the other way around. Parking the bike a little ways away, she scaled one of the surrounding buildings and found a shadowed window ledge to watch from, allowing her to observe "Daredevil" without alerting him to her presence. He fought brutally, mercilessly, but never went for a kill. He certainly wasn't Barnes; the arm was definitely flesh and bone, and his fighting style utilized more acrobatic moves than the Winter Soldier had. And there was something...off about the Devil's style. She couldn't pinpoint it exactly (which was incredibly irritating and half of what kept her watching the fight instead of leaving now that her duty as a friend was completed), but something about his movements was wrong. He clearly wasn't a powered individual. Some of the moves he used, such as the numerous acrobatic kicks, were hard to execute without them failing horribly because of how telegraphed they were when executed poorly, but he had obviously been trained well so this wasn't the problem.

Finally, as he was taking down the last two men standing (well, staggering, anyways), she figured it out. His head was wrong. He didn't always face his opponents, didn't need see them to see where the next attack was coming from. And not like her or some of the better agents she had trained with. It wasn't, "I can predict your next move and plan ahead for it." It was, "I know what you're doing even when there is no feasible way I should." She studied him much more closely as he punched the last man out and leaned back against a nearby dumpster, breathing heavily. The mask of his red costume didn't appear to have any concealed tech that would give him an advantage. The eyes didn't appear to be even Google glasses, let alone something created by Stark or one of his competitors. The little horns on top were a cute touch to the whole Devil theme he had going on (What, no tail or pitchfork? she mused wryly), but they certainly weren't any kind of antennae or anything.

A voice from below jerked her out of her study. "So, are you going to come down and introduce yourself, or just keep staring all night?" Daredevil called up to her.

She was startled. There was no way he should have been able to see her; when she didn't want to be seen, she was practically invisible. "Just enjoying the view," she replied.

The man grinned. "Didn't realize I was late night entertainment now. And here I thought I was doing something useful."

"Well, there's nothing good on TV, and I have a big project coming up at work so I can't start binge watching anything till it's over."

He continued to smile, but the expression was tighter and more strained. "You're lying. You're good, but you're lying. Would you mind coming down from there? It would be nice not to have a crick in my neck tomorrow from talking to the woman sitting two stories up."

She made her way to the ground slowly, buying time to think. How had he caught her? She hadn't put much effort into the lie, sure, but she was a damn good liar even on her worst days. This guy was starting to get under her skin (and not in a good way).

When she stood facing him, he asked, "What are you doing in my city?"

"Oh, just out for a drive," she answered, her voice warm and casual. "Borrowed a friend's bike, thought I'd take in the sights. Sort of, anyways, I'm a bit of a speed demon," she added with a girlish giggle. She could play any role, and Adorable Girl Who Thinks She's Tougher Than She Really Is was a part that came easily.

"Better," Daredevil replied, "but still lying." His stance shifted into an aggressive one. "I'll ask you one more time. What are you doing in my city?"

"Yelp recommended this really good-"

He swung; she dodged. Gotcha, she thought as she threw a kick she knew wouldn't connect. What better way to judge a strange man than fighting him? Watching him take out a bunch of untrained muscle wasn't any real indicator of his abilities, except that he could take a solid punch without a wince. Plus, it was fun. She leapt back to avoid a kick and took a second to knock out one of the bodies on the ground that had begun to stir. "Thanks," the Devil panted out as he ducked her punch.

They sparred for a little longer (well, she was sparring, it's not her fault that he was treating this as a serious fight), with her gradually increasing the attacks used to test him. He kept up, even got a few hits in that weren't freebies she allowed, but she could tell he was tired and not at his best.

To bring the fight to a close, she leapt off the wall, tackled him, and pinned him to the ground. "Don't you recognize me from TV? I'm one of the Avengers, the good guys. Why are you fighting me?" she snapped.

He tensed under her grip. "I-" He didn't seem to have an answer.

It finally clicked, that last niggling detail that had been bothering her. "You're blind," she stated, releasing him.

He didn't get up immediately, painting to catch his breath. "What're you taking about?" he gasped.

"Don't lie to me,"she said as she sat down beside him. "I'm rather impressed, actually. It's not easy to do this kind of work with a disability."

"What would you know about it?" he growled as he struggled into a sitting position.

"My best friend is mostly deaf," she explained with a shrug. "I've put up with his whining about it in the field for years." She thought for a bit while the Devil caught his breath. "It's heartbeat isn't it? That's how you knew I was hiding up there, and that I was lying. I wasn't trying very hard, so I didn't moderate my heartbeat. Or is it a body temperature thing?" It wasn't her most tactful or subtle interrogation, but she was hungry and Barton would probably eat all the won-tons if she didn't get there in time.

"I, I have to go," he stammered. He sprang to his feet, jumped into the nearby fire escape, and took off into the night.

She sighed and stood up, brushing herself off. Another man was stirring, so she took care of him and called the police, playing dumb and scared as she reported the eight groaning men incapacitated in the alley. As she climbed on the motorcycle and sped back to the tower, she idly thought about following him, but it's not like Daredevil appeared to have any interests besides Hell's Kitchen, and won-tons were calling.


	2. Matt

Hey, Matt, Matt buddy, you listening?"

He jerked back into the present, realizing he'd completely zoned out for the past few minutes, mentally replaying the events of the previous night. "Yeah, Foggy, I'm here. Could you just run that last part again?"

"Late night last night?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"I was just saying that in order to have the case dismissed or taken to mediation, we need to file. . ."

And he was gone again. Who was that woman? She said she was an Avenger, and I remembered hearing about a woman fighting in the Battle of New York. And last year during the televised hearings when that spy agency - SHIELD - went down, there was an Agent Romanoff who seemed to speak for them and, according to one report, had been a part of the Avengers Initiative. It sounded like the same voice, but I was too busy with passing the bar and starting the internship at the time to listen for long. Was it the same woman? How many female SHIELD agents were also involved with the Avengers? If it really was this Agent Romanoff, what was she doing in Hell's Kitchen watching me? Why was she interested in me? Was -

"And that's why Fowler will drop the charges, and we'll all go out for doughnuts and ice cream after."

"Huh? What was that?"

"Dude, you weren't listening again! It was your idea to come in on a Sunday afternoon to try to make progress on this case, and you can't even keep your head here for five minutes!"

"Sorry, Foggy, I just...." He took off his glasses to wearily rub his forehead. Across, the desk, his partner shifted in his seat. The two were alone in the office, and he could tell Foggy wanted to wrap up here so they could leave, but he could also tell he was concerned.

"What's up with you? Did something happen...out there...last night? Is there going to be a problem? Will I have to call Claire for you again soon?"

"No, there isn't a problem. I mean, something did happen last night, but I don't know if it will be anything yet. I - I can't say anything else right now."

"Can't or won't say?"

"Can't, for now. I really don't know. It happened too fast to really tell."

More lies, Murdock. Does that even count as a lie?

"Ooookay." He could hear the raised eyebrow. "Just as long as you stay safe, Matt. At least, as safe as someone who- for what you-" He felt the movement of heat and vibrations through the desk and slight thump as Foggy set his elbow down to prop up his head. "Be careful out there, OK? If something goes wrong, you'll get out, right? I don't want to have to call Claire to help put you back together again on your living room floor."

"I'll be fine, it was just...weird. Nothing, I'm sure." He stood up, collecting his jacket from the back of the desk chair, and cane from the corner. "I think we should call it a day. We aren't getting anything done here, and you want to go meet Karen for drinks."

"Ok, but aren't you joining us before...?"

The two slowly crossed the small office to the front door, Foggy ducking into his office to grab his own jacket. "Not tonight, Foggy. I have a few things to do before then. If anything turns up, I'll tell you tomorrow. Now, what was that last thing you were saying about our options for the case?"

* * *

Hell's Kitchen was surprisingly quiet that night, and by quiet, it meant that he'd only had to had to stop three muggings and two drug deals gone wrong by the time it was 11:00 PM. Although, that could also have something to do with the tail he'd picked up around 9:00, and had never been able to shake for long or actually track down. Whenever he tried, the heartbeat slowed and quieted enough for him to lose it under the city buzz, no matter how much he tried to zero in on it. If it was the woman from last night, she didn't seem too interested in a replay of their fight, and if it was someone else, well, he'd deal with them if it came to it.

He'd spent the earlier part of the evening doing what research he could into the female Avenger, and found reports of the Black Widow, now known as a spy for SHIELD under a dozen or so different aliases after the server dump that had occurred immediately before the disaster on the Hudson, purportedly initiated by the same woman. From the slim records on her, he managed to learn that she was a master spy and assassin, and highly skilled in multiple forms of combat. That, at least, explained the fighting and her deductions regarding his senses, but still didn't explain what she was doing in his city.

He could still hear her heartbeat following him from several rooftops away. It had grown closer. Suddenly, his attention was pulled away by a cry for help from three blocks over, and Daredevil leapt from his rooftop listening, the silent shadow temporarily forgotten.

By the time he had dispatched the two assailants, sent their would-be victim safely on her way, and made it back to the rooftops, the mysterious heartbeat had vanished. It was only in the seconds before boots landed lightly on the gravel roof that he heard it beat again.

He moved. He didn't even have to think about it. Daredevil was an unknown to her, he knew, and someone like the Black Widow wouldn't like unknowns. She might not actually be a threat, like she said, but he didn't like unknowns either, and couldn't afford the chance she'd changed her mind since their confrontation last night. He feinted with a jab and spun to kick with his back foot almost as soon as she straightened from her crouch upon landing.

But she wasn't there anymore.

The only other people he'd ever fought who came close to her had been Stick and Nobu, and neither had both her speed and grace. He barely felt the air move as she fought, and her movements were light enough to barely shift the gravel under them. A split second after his missed kick, he barely had time to block a strike to his lower ribs before flipping around to kick her in the head. Except she wasn't there again. This time he was faster, grabbing the leg aimed at his knees and flipping her over his hip, but she was gone again by the time he'd turned to reach for her.

"Nice to see you again, too, Red."

She wasn't even breathing heavily, her heartbeat barely elevated, but he knew exactly where she was now. "Nice of you to finally drop in, Black Widow, if that's who you are. You must think you're pretty clever, trailing me this long."

They were circling each other now, and he could feel the small shrug she gave. "I think I'm hilarious. You gonna fight me?"

This time, she was the one who barely had time to get her guard up, but that was the last time she was surprised. They traded blows and kicks for a minute or two more, and again, the few hits he got in felt like almost like she had allowed them to connect. Not that she didn't return them in kind, but she wasn't fighting like she meant to take him out, or like she was mocking him. Was she playing with him?

Last night he'd been almost exhausted from the patrol and the batch of toughs he'd been busy with when she showed up, but tonight had been easy and they were almost evenly matched. Finally, he felt a blow aimed at a joint in his armor over his chest in time to grab her arm before the blow landed.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you-"

Before he could finish, she'd used his grip as a pivot to swing her legs around his neck and her body around, flipping him onto his back as she walked free. Winded, he sat up as she walked to the edge of the roof.

"Score's 2-0, Red. And yeah, I'm the Black Widow."

She dove from the roof, and was gone by the time he made it to the edge.


	3. Natasha

He was good at what he did, she had to give him that. She'd spent the evening trailing the man known as Daredevil on and off across Hell's Kitchen, breaking to stop a handful of petty crimes before he got to them. Maybe he noticed, maybe he didn't, but she wanted a chance to watch him really fight, and these few purse snatchings and an attempted mugging were nothing a silent drop and swift strike couldn't resolve before returning to her task. There had been a few times he'd almost located her, but tonight there had been time to slow her heart enough to escape detection before slipping back onto his tail to watch him at work.

Finally, she'd grown bored watching him beat up thugs, even if it had been delightful to watch the way he shook the time and location of a guns-for-drugs deal later that week out of a drug dealer. When Natasha did show herself, the man had been even faster and more alert to any variation of her breathing or heartbeat. The Devil was almost as fast as she, and that was damn impressive.

His fighting style puzzled her, though. It looked like a mix of jujitsu, capoeira, and a few other styles, which made sense for what he did, but boxing? That was totally a boxing stance he fell into after I caught him behind the knee. Who taught this guy? The style reminded her a little of how Rogers fought, with the elegance and grace fading into old-fashioned fist fighting. There was still something off about his style, though. He'd also learned who she was. Not that she'd made it hard for him, saying she was an Avenger, but it showed that he did his homework.

Nat knew the fight had gone on long enough when he actually caught her arm, inches away from his kidney. Fast as he was, he was not expecting her to flip him onto his back again and then leave, and the look on what she could see of his face at her final shot across the rooftop was priceless.

"Score's 2-0, Red. And yeah, I'm the Black Widow."

As she sped away through the night on the motorcycle, she mentally replayed the events of the night, sorting what she knew of the masked, blind vigilante, and tumbling all her questions with known facts, waiting for pieces to click together. The Devil intrigued her and she'd keep up her watch, but there was still something about him that bothered her that she couldn't put her finger on.

Natasha Romanoff was by nature curious, and by training patient. For the rest of the week, she continued to trail the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, sometimes breaking off her own patrol, but always keeping close enough to find him again. She knew by the end of the week that there were whispers about this new woman patrolling the nights as well, and that her masked quarry must have heard them. As a spy, she could have started investigating the population of the area to try to find out who this man was, but if she did, he would likely know about it soon enough, and she wanted him to trust her. After the fall of SHIELD, Nat had learned the value of having people to trust, and breaking someone's cover story was no way to earn said trust, so she waited for him to give her his name on his own. After all, she'd already told him who she was, more or less.

********* 

"Hey, Romanoff, sorry I'm late, I got tied up at the VA and- WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?" Sam Wilson rounded the corner into his kitchen to find the cupboard open and boxes and packages of food strewn across the counter tops and floor, and a despondent Natasha Romanoff sitting perched on the counter and staring at the cookie jar in her lap as though it had personally offended her. "Natasha, you know, when someone says they'll be a little late back to meet someone, most people just sit and wait, or, you know, watch TV or get coffee or something. Not pull apart their kitchens! "

She glanced up sheepishly (not a look many people ever see on her) and grimaced a little. "Sorry, Wilson. The cookie jar was empty, and I had a craving. Needed cookies."

"A craving? As in...? Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I'm flying out on a mission with Barton and Rogers tomorrow since they asked nicely, and I'll be ok once I get cookies. Couldn't find any."

Sam dropped his keys and wallet on the table, and set to picking up the mess as she slid off the counter to help. "Well, it's a Friday afternoon. I don't usually bake before the weekend. I can throw together a batch while you're here, though." Under his breath, he added something about housetraining crazy Russians.

She harrumphed as she put away the last of the cereal boxes, then settled cross-legged on the kitchen table, drawing only an eye-roll from him as he re-stacked the last of the cans of tomato sauce.

"You didn't ask to meet with me for my skills as a pastry chef, though. Usually when you or Rogers or the rest of your crew asks to meet with me, it's more for what my day job is 'cause y'all need someone to listen and advise. Highly skilled field medic and pararescue here, I can do way more than bake cookies, you know."

She grinned across the room at him as he began to pull out ingredients; the wide, unguarded grin that had absolutely no promise of blood in it, and which few people ever were allowed to see.

As he mixed up the dough, she skimmed over the newspaper spread across one end of the table, making comments on it like "they call this news now?" "Who even gets newspapers anymore, Wilson?" "Coverup." "Also coverup. I might have been part of that one." "Now that's not a coverup, but it's actually weirder than anyone who wasn't involved knows, and if I told you the truth, I'd have to kill you.that is, if Barton didn't kill you first."

He catches her eye on that one, noting the teasing in the grin now. Finally, the cookies were on pans in the oven and Sam grabbed a chair, straddling it backwards and crossing his arms over the back. "Ok, Romanoff, you said you wanted to talk, so talk."

"Well, Sam, there's this guy I've been seeing every night this week, and we play well together, but I don't know where to take it from here."

This earns a double-take from Sam. "What? Who's the lucky guy?"

"Have you heard of the vigilante Daredevil, also known as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?"

"Yeah, I've -WHAT? THAT LUNATIC? YOU'RE- AND-"

"We're nothing. I've been keeping an eye on him this week to see if he might know anything about Barnes for Cap at first, and then to decide if he's a powered individual we need to be concerned about. He's not, but...."

"But? So what is he? Just a dude in a suit?"

"More than that. He's blind."

"BLIND? So the suit helps him navigate or something?"

"Nope. From what I read off him, it's just a suit. Like Rogers has. He's an incredible fighter, though."

"Woah." Sam sat back on the chair in surprise. "So normal dude in a normal suit? No super serum? Not gifted at all, then? A normal dude in light body armor, then. Dude."

She smirks down at him. "I don't know about the gifted part. His radial awareness is like nothing else I've ever encountered. He seemed to know how I was going to move almost before I started to, and he can hear heartbeats from an incredible distance."

"That's amazing. And no idea who he is, then?"

"None. I'm waiting for him to decide to tell me himself."

Now it's Sam's turn to grin wickedly at her. "Ohhhh, so it's like that then, is it."

He has to lean sideways sharply to escape the balled up newspaper page lobbed at his head. "It's not like that. Not yet anyways. There's something about him that still bothers me, though. He's entirely blind, as far as I can tell, but he fights as well as I do. Almost as well as I do," she corrects herself. "The way he can read an environment and respond to it is fascinating."

"But this guy only showed up recently, right? No idea where he came from?"

"None, and his fighting style is something else entirely. "

Sam looked over his shoulder at her from where he was checking on the cookies across the kitchen. "Oh? Can't you usually tell who someone was trained by by the style?"

"If it's a known organization, yeah, and I know a handful of almost unknown ones with very distinctive styles, and this guy wasn't from any of them. The mix of styles and disciplines is too unique."

Reassured that the cookies were baking evenly, Sam returned to his chair. "It's creepy how you do that. And you're gonna clean that up, right?"

She had been slowly shredding the newspaper onto the table as she talked. "Of course, Wilson. I was thinking of using it as tinder when I burn Stark's team shirts he's printed."

"Ha." Wait. She was kidding, right?

"Anyway, there are at least four different Southeast Asian forms he uses, but they're seamlessly blended, and I've seen him take down eight thugs by himself in the dark, armed only with billy clubs and his fists. He's not flashy about it, either, not the way Rogers is. Cap 'll pull stunts like a damn Olympic gymnast just because he can, now that I've taught him how to do more than punch his way through any enemy or hurl that shield of his at them. This guy moves like corkscrewing through the air between two buildings, then barrel spinning into a kick with his back foot is as easy as breathing, and just as natural."

"Ok, so the guy's an amazing fighter who happens to be blind. So what? All it sounds like to me is a corny action movie."

"I know how it sounds, but he tried to box with me, Wilson."

Huh? "What do you mean 'box' you? Box you as in. . ." He stood up, striking a pose with fists up, bouncing on the balls of his feet a few times. ". . .box you?"

"Yeah. I'd caught him behind the knee, swept him clean off his feet, and he must have hit his head on the way down, because when he came back up he fell into a boxing stance while he cleared his head. It was as if boxing was, well...." She shook her head, speaking to herself in Russian.

"His first language, you mean?"

"Yeah. And he's kept it up for years, even if he doesn't need it"

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before the timer on the oven rang, and Sam turned away to grab the oven mitts and pull the cookies out.

"Judging by his level of awareness and of comfort at moving without sight, I'd say he's been blind since at least since childhood. Possibly his whole life, but it's unlikely based on how he moved. That means he started training early. The question is...."

Scooping a few of the cooling cookies onto a plate, Sam turned back to her. "Who trained him? Why is your face doing that thing? I've seen that look before. Here, have a fresh cookie. See, warm and gooey. No rage in this cookie."

"Intense martial training at a young age, followed by a period of less rigorous self-driven training, possibly influenced by his environment, and the signs of long-term blindness. That means someone taught a blind kid advanced hand-to-hand combat with minimal weapons training, and then left him, and he's been training on his own ever since. I'm guessing he grew up in an area with boxing once his formal training was over, but that doesn't narrow down where he's from enough. He'd have to have started young." She looked at him, the rage in her eyes mixing with horror. "The training must have been brutal. God knows I've seen more than my share of horrors, but why....?"

"Romanoff -- NATASHA. You don't know this dude's story yet. Is there any reason to suspect he was the result of a child soldier program yet? No, so stop planning to take down an organization we don't even have proof exists. He's doing good work and - STOP CLEANING YOUR GUNS ON ON MY KITCHEN TABLE." She'd pulled out half a dozen different handguns from where they'd been hidden, and begun stripping them vengefully. "Don't make me tell Steve I think I saw Barnes somewhere and he should send you to check it out. Don't make me pull out the Steve Rogers baby blues. So help me, I will use Captain America as blackmail if I have to. No, put the phone down, you are not roping Barton and Steve into this mess. We don't know anything about this guy. NAT."

Setting the guns aside, she'd pulled out her phone, and, punching the first number that came up, spoke in rapid-fire Russian for a minute before hanging up and returning the phone to her pocket. "You can't pull them on me, because by tomorrow morning they'll be in Belgrade, investigating a ring of gunrunners possibly connected to HYDRA, and until now, I was going with them. I need to talk to this guy, Sam. It's- It's personal." She moves to finish reassembling the guns, but instead resting her hands on the tabletop and sagging a little, as though drained.

"How's this personal? You don't think he's - "

"Not from -- where I'm from, but I -- I had someone, growing up. He was practically a father to me and he taught me before- there are times I think, well, he's why I'm still human." She sinks into a chair, slowly finishing the gun reassembly. "He's why, after Barton brought me in, I was able to learn to trust again."

"And you think this red dude had his teacher? Father figure? Whatever, leave him?"

"I don't know anything, Wilson, but being that alone, abandoned," she looks him dead in the eye, "it can make you reckless. Wild. Dangerous, to others and yourself." Slipping the last of her guns back into hiding, she turned to leave. "There was this girl I met, years ago, from the same place I'm from. She never had an- A person, like I did. She was cold, ruthless, ambitious, deadly. She was everything I would have been without him."

"Ok, but if you're gonna go on the warpath, at least take the cookies you wrecked my kitchen for." Grabbing a Tupperware from the cabinet, Sam slid half a dozen cooling cookies in (with a paper towel for the steam, because vendettas are no excuse for condensation-soaked cookies), snapped the lid on, and tossed it to her as she left.

* * * * *

Cookies tucked safely with her pack in the motorcycle's compartment, she sped away into the gathering dusk, mentally examining the facets of this new revelation. _He's been training alone a long time. What happened to his teacher? Who left, teacher or student? It must be teacher -- he would have been young when they separated, and this guy isn't used to working with others. How has he survived this long alone? How did I survive alone as long as I did? Would I have lived this long without Ivan? I never thanked him enough. And then Barton decided to bring me in. I just hope I can find this Devil before it's too late._


	4. Matt

Another night, another fight. This time, it was some low ranking muscle who sold out their boss hoping he'd go a little light (he didn't). Now he was taking on A LOT more people than anticipated to stop a gun smuggling deal. Ideally, it would help decrease his late nights at the "office" so he could put in more time at the actual office. He was exhausted from running around so much, and it was starting to cause problems. Like when he passed out at his desk the other afternoon and woke up to find Foggy's coat laid on him like a blanket and a cup of Karen's extra strong coffee placed near his nose so he's smell it.

Or tonight, when he couldn't seem to keep up with the men he was confronting. They weren't skilled with their fists or their weapons, but there was a lot of them and his limbs were sluggish, always arriving a second late to where he was directing them. Stick would have disowned him on the spot if he could "see" his younger charge now.

Still, he might have been able to hold his own and come out on top, in the end, had he not been assaulted by noise, clouding his sense. The man he knocked back tripped over a bucket lying on the ground. At the same time, a gun was fired, grazing his shoulder. Had he been at his peak, it wouldn't have made a difference, but the exhaustion, the chaotic clanging and scraping of that damned bucket, and the explosion of the gun disoriented him just enough for his combatants to knock him down. A blur of fists and kicks came at him, until he was lifted in the air and tossed into a dumpster. He cracked his head on the corner as he went in, and he barely had a chance to think, Another one, really? before he was unconscious.

Pain, the sting of a needle piercing his skin. Zip, the sound of the thread as it pulled the pieces of him together. Copper mixed with alcohol, the taste of wounds being cleaned. Sickly sweet, the smell of adhesive holding bandages in place.

A voice, low and gentle. "Hey, easy there, don't move." The Black Widow. "Look, I took care of those guys back there, so you can relax. And I patched you up as best I could, but I don't have a safe house in Hell's Kitchen, so you need to give me an address where I can take you. This garage isn't the cleanest."

He mumbled his address, hoping his words came out clearer to her than they did to him, before passing out again.

The next time he woke, his brain was not buried under the heavy fog it had been. He could think as well as sense. Memory was an issue though, because the last thing he remembered was another gross, smelly dumpster filling his lungs. Now, he was curled up with a warm body and cocooned in blankets, and, if his radar was right, under a fort made of more blankets. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Black Widow's voice said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

He took stock. "Like I took a bunch of kicks to the ribs."

She snorted. "You're not wrong. You took quite the beating tonight."

"Not at the top of my game. How'd you find me? You weren't following me tonight." He chose to start with the first of the numerous questions swirling in his mind.

"I was coming over to play and stopped to take out a couple stragglers. I found the cane you tossed aside earlier, figured I'd return it. I saw them toss you in that dumpster, fished you out, took care of you. You babbled this address at me when you were briefly conscious. Please tell me it's actually your place."

"It is."

"Oh good, that's a relief. No awkward conversations to be had about why we're cuddling on a complete stranger's couch under a blanket fort then."

"Not with complete strangers anyways," he muttered.

This charmed something more than a snort out of her, though it wasn't quite a chuckle or laugh. "You know who I am," she pointed out.

"I do, Miss Romanoff, but you don't know my name - you don't, right? - and yet here we are, on my couch cuddling and...you're wearing my sweats? And my tank top?"

"Ok, don't call me that again. Ever. Miss Romanoff just sounds weird. Most people just call me Romanoff, or Agent Romanoff. But you can call me Natasha, if you want. And I took your clothes because the suit I fight in isn't comfortable for lying around."

"That still doesn't explain why we're 'lying around' in the first place. Or at least, why you're lying around. It's pretty clear why I am."

Another not-laugh. "I'm cold and tired. I mean, it's not like I waited around for those guys to finish their deal and leave, and they weren't the first ones I took out. I owe you a new cane, by the way."

Maybe the concussion had slowed his mind, but he wasn't following. "Oh?"

"I figured it'd be sturdy. You run around at night beating up bad guys. Why would you carry such a flimsy cane? It stood up to a few hits, sure, but as soon as I went for the guy's kneecap, it broke. The cane, I mean. Though the knee cap did as well. And then the two halves sort of worked as batons, but still flimsy. Couldn't break much more than a nose or two with them. You should look into that, get a cane you can fight with. At least then if some asshole decides to mug the blind guy walking past the alley, you'll be prepared."

"I-" He floundered. He hurt all over and his head was swimming; how could he be expected to reply to all of that?

"My mask. Where's my mask and suit? You changed my clothes?"

"Your stuff's safe. Figured you'd be more comfortable like this with the ribs. Anyway, I closed my eyes." Natasha gave a little sigh and began to extricate herself from the blankets. She sat up, ducking the roof of the blanket fort, stole one of the very top covers to wrap around herself (there were so many piled atop and around him that while he noticed the weight of it missing, it didn't make a difference as to the temperature), and adjusted him so that his head was in her lap. "So, do you remember your name?"

"I do."

"Are you gonna tell it to me?" Her voice was amused; while he couldn't imagine her face, he was sure her lips were quirked into a smirk. "Or do I just call you Daredevil while I patch you up?"

He hesitated, weighing his options. He wanted to protect his privacy, wanted to protect Karen and Foggy. But he had kept up with the SHIELD scandal and researched even more after meeting her in the alley, knew how much she had risked when she posted the information where the world could see it. She presumably understood the need to protect the important people in your life. "It's Matt. Matt Murdock."

"Pleased to meet you, Matt Murdock. Now, how are you feeling? What are your symptoms?"

"Besides pain?"

"Obviously." From her tone, he imagined she had rolled her eyes. "Headache? Severe nausea?" Her tone became playful. "Vision problems?"

"You're hilarious," he muttered.

"Hell yeah, I am. But seriously, how bad is it? I did my best and I have a lot of experience, but I'm not actually a doctor. Is there anyone I should call? Do you need a doctor? A mortician?"

"Nothing that serious. I'm a little nauseous and have a headache, but it isn't too bad. I've had worse."

"Wow, that's reassuring. The blind guy with no superpowers, as far as I can see, who runs around beating up criminals has felt worse than this before and so is obviously totally fine. Yep, I'm definitely reassured."

Matt grinned. "Don't worry about me, I'll be okay. You can take off if you have somewhere to be."

Instead of rising like he expected, she seemed to settle down even more into the couch. "Nah, my friends are out of town this weekend and I'm comfy and warm. Not moving. You're stuck with me. Besides, I need to make sure you don't have a seizure or start vomiting everywhere."

"You really don't have to," he insisted.

Natasha began scratching her fingers over his scalp. He relaxed almost immediately, resisting the urge to nuzzle into the touch. "Why're you in such a hurry to get me out of here? Do you have another late night sparring partner I should be jealous of?"

"No I just...don't want to be an inconvenience. You're an Avenger, you have other things to do than look after me."

"Are you having memory problems? That can happen after a concussion. If so, let me repeat: my friends are out of town, and I am comfortable and don't want to move. So I'm not going to. Now sleep." He started to grumble in protest, but she cut him off. "Shut up, you need sleep." Before he could say anything else, she began to sing softly in a language he didn't know, probably Russian.

He fought the urge to sleep, he really did, but between the fingers in his hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp; the soft, foreign lullaby, and the warmth of another body and a mountain of blankets (did he really own all these blankets, or had she supplied her own?), he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

*********

When he awoke, he was alone. No warm body near his, no lap pillowing his head, no fingers in his hair. Unless she had altered her heartbeat, no one in the apartment but himself. The blankets were still piled atop him and her scent lingered in the fabric, standing out because it didn't belong, but there were no other traces of her. He sighed heavily, wincing as his ribs reminded him why he was laid up in the first place. He knew she'd be gone as soon as she felt safe leaving him, but it would have been pleasant not to wake up alone. He couldn't call anyone; Foggy hated seeing him beat up, Karen didn't know, and Claire wouldn't appreciate him calling when he was already patched up. The totality of his solitude weighed on him heavier than the blankets on his chest, and his breathing hitched in a way unrelated to protesting bones.

He allowed himself a moment of self-pity, then set about deconstructing the blanket fort and extracting himself. Maudlin wallowing was for terribly written teenage girls in books. Besides, it wasn't like those three were his only friends. He could always meet the Father for a latte. The old man might be pleasantly surprised to have a conversation not focused on religion, faith, or crises thereof. And Mr. Basil, who they had helped get the child support he was owed, had insisted on taking him out one night to say thanks. So he wasn't entirely alone. And if a voice in the back of his head pointed out that even Fisk had had the elegant and intelligent Vanessa by his side, well, he was in plenty of pain to distract himself from it.

He laid one blanket on the floor (It's freezing! he growled at the internalized voice of Stick) and settled down to meditate. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, cleared his mind...

...and jumped out of his skin when the door banged open. "Sorry!" Natasha called. She was back! That was unexpected. She was back and carrying paper bags that were rustling loudly and smelled like they contained coffee, pastries, and some kind of sandwich (presumably) with eggs and meat - ham? "I went for breakfast because all I have are Sam's cookies, which I might not share, I don't know if you're worthy yet, and the bakery was having a sale on the croissant sandwiches that smelled amazing so-"

She stopped in the middle of the room. He imagined how he looked, beat up and dirty with a dumb grin on his face pulling the cut on his lip open. She came back and brought food and some other pack on her back that smelled different, like it had sat somewhere unused for some time. Probably a backpack, based on how it whispered against her clothing. "I was going to thank you for setting up a picnic blanket, but I can see that's not the case," she murmured, coming to sit across from him. "You didn't think I was coming back."

"Didn't see why you would."

"Yeah well, you're blind, so you can't see for shit."

He laughed, startled by her wording and how closely it mirrored what he had told Foggy.

"I would have left a note, but I wasn't sure where to put it that you'd find it. I picked up some street clothes so you can have your sweats back, figured I'd hang out for the weekend and make sure you didn't die after I fixed you up."

"Doesn't matter, it's not like I can read it."

"I know that! I was going to scratch into the paper so you could feel it."

"That...would have worked, actually."

She set her pack on the floor and began digging into the food bags. "So what were you up to before I interrupted, if it wasn't waiting for a breakfast picnic? Also, vanilla cappuccino or caramel macchiato?"

"Uh, cappuccino." He took a drink when she handed it over. "And I was speeding up the healing process by meditating."

"Eat up and I'll join you." She handed him a croissant and a doughnut. "It's an old fashioned maple flavored. They all are. And I got doughnut holes that are just the regular glazed."

He accepted the food, feeling bemused. "You'll join me?"

"In meditating. Not my number one leisure activity, but it has it's place and can be helpful. I'll meditate with you and promise not to laugh too hard if you go to sleep and fall over because you're too full."

Matt grinned and took a bite of the sandwich (egg, ham, and cheese). Maybe he was less alone than he thought.

"You know, if you hadn't slipped out like that, I'd have offered to make us breakfast."

"I thought you might, but I've stayed at my friend Clint's enough to know what single, male vigilante-types have in their kitchens, and I figured if I'd be making a run for groceries and my stuff, hot food someone else made would be appreciated after the night you just had."

"Oh. Uh, thanks."

"Don't mention it. You get to clean up when we're done here." The wicked smile was back in her voice. 

It must have been the concussion, or the cracked ribs, or the night before in general, or maybe he really was hungrier than he'd realized, because by the time Natasha (he was still having trouble believing he was on a first-name basis with an Avenger, and an Avenger who was eating breakfast with him on his floor, no less) was through with her sandwich, he'd finished his, and the doughnut, and another two doughnuts before he stopped himself. 

"I think I'm good for now. You kinda brought a lot of food."

"Aww, you mean you don't want one of the other two sandwiches I have in this bag? You full already?"

"Heh, I think I am. Ouch." The short laugh had brought up a fresh wave of pain. 

"The ribs?"

"Yeah, they're, uh, saying we should pick up here so I can get to healing them." 

"Well, then I agree with your ribs. You, get meditating already,"

"Ha, fine. Let's just set it on the couch for now. I'd insist on cleaning up, since you brought the food, but the concussion is teaming up with my ribs and protesting against movement," he winced again, "or speaking for that matter."

The two finished wrapping up the leftovers in silence after that, setting the bags on the edge of the couch before returning to the blanket. He settled cross-legged, and heard/felt her settle down next to him. Wordlessly, they sat side by side, breathing slowly, arms loose. He heard her heartbeat slip into a resting tempo with a level of control he'd rarely ever heard. It would have been distracting, listening to her heartbeat and wondering at the enigma of a woman sitting next to him, if the quiet beating hadn't pulled him into his own calm focus. The two sat quietly as Matt focused on the injuries from the night before, running over the events leading up to them, and letting the old habits go to work.

With a start, he resurfaced, the pain in his ribs and head having settled to the dull ache of stiff muscles. Even the stitches in his arm and the gash they held together barely stung. 

"Better?"

"Yeah. Uh, not entirely, but I'll at least be able to manage for the rest of the day." 

"So it doesn't really hurt if I do this?" She suddenly poked him in the side, the surprise rather than her speed catching him off guard. 

"Ah, no, it's more of a-"

"Tickle? The great Daredevil is ticklish?" There was that grinning voice again. 

"I. Um." Real smooth, Murdock. 

"Because,"

Another poke. 

"You didn't tell me, and,"

Poke. This time in his stomach. 

"Wa- What are you doing?"

"I have just discovered the mighty Daredevil's secret."

The poking escalated, and he was off his guard against her speed, so there was no blocking her. 

"Daredevil is ticklish!" And she dove with a cackle of glee. 

She was relentless. He hadn't been tickled for years, aside from a few college girlfriends, and that had mostly been on accident, and certainly not like this. She was already fast and had him backed against the side of the couch, but he could barely get his guard up through the helpless laughter. Come on, radar sense, kick in. Big help you are right now. 

Finally, his sides aching, he found an opening in her fence of tickling hands, and twisted away long enough to grab her foot, meaning to begin a counter-attack, only to find. . . a fuzzy sock? His fuzzy sock? She took the pause as a chance to move her playful assault up his sides, under his arms. 

"Wha-why-aha- my sock? How -?"

"Oh, so these are your fuzzy socks are they? I would never have guessed that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen would have striped fuzzy socks, but my feet were cold last night and your floors make these suuuuper slidey. I'm almost as surprised that it took you this long to notice them."

"An-ah-ah-and I'm ju-just su-aha-surprised that-ah the Black ahHAha-Widow li-likes sl-slahah-slidey socks!" 

She cocked her head as she paused her tickling for a moment. 

"You'd be surprised what goes on at the tower after missions sometimes. Do you have any idea how long and smooth some of the hallways there are? It's fuzzy sock sliding paradise!"

He took her pause as a chance to catch his breath, and as she leaned in to continue tickling him, he lunged. 

"Not as surprised as you!"

Fighting, he was good at. Tickling, not so much. He pinned her for about a second before - how was that part of his neck ticklish? She'd hooked her foot around his hip, and with a twist and a roll, she was free and going for the backs of his knees as he turned and lunged again, fingers going at her ribs, when their combined momentum carried them over. . . and onto the pile of bags and sandwiches on the couch. 

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. Well, it looks like your ribs are better, so you can finish putting away our leftovers for later."

Natasha carefully detangled herself from pile of sandwiches, limbs, and couch. 

"I think they're a little on the flat side now, so- wait, later?"

She scooped up the discarded backpack from the corner on her way across the room, glancing back at him, where he looked less like an erstwhile vigilante and more like a giant puppy, still catching his breath from the battle and tangled up in the detritus of their breakfast, with only the scratches and abrasions to show that he was more than a cute lawyer she'd picked up the night before. Ok, that AND the toned build, but that wasn't that uncommon in her line of work, even the scars, but the build and the skills combined with eyes that always appeared focused somewhere behind her left ear. . . he was still something of and enigma to even her.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, "Yeah, later. Don't think you're getting rid of me that fast, Murdock. I have clothes in my pack, and plan to make a day of this. There's this little place across town Rogers told me about that I think you'll like." 

By then, he'd pulled himself out of the couch and had collected the slightly flattened sandwiches, the doughnut box having been miraculously spared their combined weight. 

"Wait, 'Rogers', as in Steve Rogers? Captain America Steve Rogers?"

"The one and only."

"So I'm getting shopping recommendations from Captain America now. This is all a little. . ."

"Surreal? I know, and last night you were just a normal lawyer from Hell's Kitchen who dresses up in red body armor and horns at night to fight crime while totally blind. Things changing a bit fast for you?"

"Um, yeah. Kinda."

"You get used to it."

As she headed for the bathroom, she turned to call over her shoulder "oh, and Murdock?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever ride a motorcycle?" 


	5. Matt

Twenty minutes later, the motorcycle pulled up in front of a row of shops in East Village. Natasha'd taken them through Ukrainian Village to a Russian deli for sandwiches ("you really haven't been on a motorcycle before, have you?" "Well, most people don't expect the blind guy to want to ride, and I didn't exactly take Driver's Ed.") before continuing south. 

"You still haven't told me where we're going, and I don't mean that deli."

"It's a surprise, Murdock" she grinned over her shoulder at him. Natasha had guessed he'd be a good rider, and he'd still surprised her, leaning through the turns with her with perfect balance. 

"I thought lunch was the surprise? I couldn't tell what you ordered. I don't actually speak Russian."

"Lunch is just lunch, and the owner there likes me."

The two dismounted and stashed the one helmet, which Matt was wearing. 

"You call that liking you?" With a flick of his wrist, Matt pulled the collapsible cane from his jacket pocket and unfolded it as he joined her on the sidewalk. 

"You should hear Sergi with anyone else Russian who isn't a friend. He sounds a lot less like a big friendly bear who serves pastrami on rye then. The place is just down here. And how many of those things do you have?" 

"Ok, uh, that still doesn't explain where we're going. And I order them in bulk." 

"Well, after I dragged you back to your place, and it looked like you weren't going to die on me, I got to poke around a bit looking for blankets, and I found your turntable and album collection. You've got some great stuff there. "

"Uh, thanks? I got a lot of it from my dad after. . ." 

"That explains the dad rock. There was some pretty good newer stuff, too. I didn't know Train even had stuff on vinyl, and I've looked at Tony Stark's collection." 

"Yeah, that was a gift from Foggy. And?"

"It's just music, though. I mean, you only have music"

"Well, it's actually faster for me to read on my own than listen to an audiobook, if that's what you mean. And I'm not really big on movies." 

"I told you Rogers told me about this place, right? It carries a bunch of antique stuff, so I guess he feels at home there or something. Now, the really special thing about it is. . ." 

They'd reached the shopfront door by that time, and a bell jingled as she pushed the door open, letting out the smells of paper and chemicals and air conditioning and . . .vinyl?

.". . .it's the best store in town for movies on record. Ever hear of them?" 

The two headed inside, and suddenly they were surrounded by the smells of the old records, their sleeves, the cardboard boxes they were packed in, and a myriad of other smells and senses. 

"Well, that terrible pun aside, I can't say I have. What-"

"I can't say why Rogers picked one up in the first place, but it's pretty much what it sounds like." 

He grimaced at the second pun. 

"Now, most of the time, casual dates involve picking out a movie for the night, but that doesn't really seem fair for you, so I figured the entire audio track of a film on record was a decent compromise. " 

She plucked a record out of a box, flipping it in gentle circles and grinning at her dumbfounded companion. 

"You- you really don't have to-"

"Fair's fair, Murdock. If you can't see the movie, I don't need to either. Anyway, if it's on record, there's nothing possessive directors can change in hypothetical special editions." 

* * * * 

Half an hour and two trilogies later, because Natasha had declared Harrison Ford's voice a critical part of anyone's life (and didn't a mild-mannered professor who was also a whip-cracking adventurer sound right up Matt's alley?), the two had swapped out the records for the bag of sandwiches and continued in the general direction of Brooklyn on foot, his hand lightly around Natasha's arm at her insistence that it was part of their "secret identities." (And was it just him, or was she leaning into his grip more than was necessary?) 

"So if that was the surprise, where are we going now?" 

"The surprise? That was just the first step in my wonderful, nefarious surprise plan, Murdock." 

The wicked grin from their rooftop sparring was back. 

"Ah, I- , thank you? But where. . .?"

"Don't tell me you can't smell it from here. It's just the next shop down the block." 

"Wait, we're going to the bakery? We already have sandwiches."

"What we don't have, Matt, is cupcakes to go with them!" 

"Cupcakes?"

"Yeah, cupcakes. Like cake, but cup size. You'll like them."

"I know what they are, Natasha. It's just-"

"Well, you've never had them like this. This place has enormous cupcakes. Like, size of Thor's fist enormous. Only tastier."

"You- you do realize I've never-"

"Just imagine a huge fist, and then double it. Then you'll be close."

"Ok. . ."

By now he could smell the sugar coating over the bakery smell, but he let her continue playing tour guide. After all, this was the most fun he'd had in ages, and she seemed to be enjoying leading him around the city. Just like their nightly rooftop fights, she was having fun making him guess her game and watching him react. Unlike those fights, if this really was a date like she said, he realized that this really was just about having a good time. Also, it was day, they were on the ground, and dressed in street clothes. That was another thing; she was the first person he knew, other than the Father, who knew about both of his identities and hadn't tried to persuade him to give up the mask.

Suddenly, Natasha stopped short, pulling him out of his contemplation. 

"We're here! Now, what flavors of cake do you like? Do you think anyone would guess who we are if we got carrot and devil's food cakes? And maybe red velvet?"

"I think they'd have a harder time guessing that the Black Widow eats cupcakes. And aren't the last two the same except for the red food coloring? And before you ask, it has a distinctive taste."

Five minutes later, and they were back out on the street, this time with half a dozen assorted cupcakes, and from what Matt could tell from the weight of the box, they really were enormous. 

"You know, I can carry those also."

"It- it wouldn't seem fair, since you have the sandwiches."

He was still suppressing giggles from inside the bakery. As much as he'd said that their alternate identities wouldn't be compromised by something as innocent as their choice of cupcakes, Natasha had seemed determined to drop as many hints as possible, disguised as commentary on the cupcakes, and she'd been giggling as much as he was by the time they finished making their selection. 

"Hey Murdock, the red velvet is the same color as your glasses. It's a great shade on you, by the way. You should wear it more often. Oh! They have the Halloween ones in early, and the chocolate one has pumpkin icing the same color as my hair! It looks like a tiny me all in black!"

"Actually, I imagined your hair looking more like the carrot cake I smell over here."

"Hey! That is carrot cake after all. I couldn't tell just by looking at it. Now, the other fun part of this place is that the cupcakes have great covers. Some places, the icing is pretty tasteless, or else it disguises the flavor of the cake. Here, the icing is just part of the way the cupcake is made and compliments the flavor and texture of the cake. What? I have a friend who likes food almost as much as he likes arrows."

"I thought it smelled different here. The cream cheese icing on that red velvet smelled cheesier than usual. And the devil's food you told me about is right next to it."

Finally, they'd picked out the cupcakes and escaped before they really did tell someone who they were. 

"I can carry them both, you know. You're holding your world-poking stick after all." 

"My what?"

"The stick you poke the world with to see what it does. It's not like you really need it, after all." 

"Well, it does keep people guessing who I am, and noticing that Matt Murdock and Daredevil are never seen in the same place at the same time. Not that they would, with the whole . . ." He gestured vaguely at his face, the sun bouncing off his glasses with the movement. "But I've blind since I was a kid, so, uh, if I suddenly lost the cane and started running around, someone might get a little suspicious." 

"Then good job at keeping up a full cover story as your real identity. And coming from me, that's high praise. Superspy, remember? I'll be whoever a situation needs me to be. " Ok, not technically a lie. I was right about how long he's been blind though! 

“You know, the only two other people close to me who know who I really am are my partner and. . .another friend, and neither of them are. . .too happy with what I do. That might be from them only finding out when I was half dead and having to put me back together before chewing me out for being stupid, though, but it’s nice to be able to talk to someone who knows what it’s like, and who isn’t my priest. He knows, also, but he figured it out without me almost dying on the floor.”

“Considering that’s how we were finally introduced, you gotta stop making a habit of meeting people that way, Murdock.”

Playfully, she leaned in to elbow him in the side, pulling back quickly when he winced slightly at the contact.

“Are your ribs still cracked? I thought the meditation fixed that.”

Shoulda thought of that before starting a tickle war, Romanoff. You think a guy like this is going to let on that he’s still injured as long as he’s functional? Sloppy.”

“I’m ok, I’m ok. It’s, it’s just still sore and the cracks are still there, just not as bad anymore. I’m able to function and not worry about doing any more damage. Same with the concussion . . . and other stuff. I’ll be fine“

“I know you will be, Murdock. Today you get to take it easy, though. Today, we’re just two normal people out on a normal date. Two normal people who happen to also be a superspy and a vigilante, but who’s counting. Oh, we’re almost there, and we cross the street here.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going. Is it the music I’ve been hearing for the past block? And is that a park up ahead?”

“That it is, and let’s cross.”


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything up to this chapter was written in the spring of 2015. After the final line of the last chapter, the "let's cross", I hit a block and just couldn't get the fic to work with me, and then neither of us had the time or motivation to finish. We both wrote different fics and got into different fandoms. After Ultron, I kinda was put off the MCU and Nat's character, and it took a few years to actually like her again, but I still couldn't pick this fic back up again.  
For four years. 
> 
> Now, with both characters either gone or in another universe, it was time to give them the rest they deserved.

Letting him take her arm again, she smirked at him as they stepped off the curb. _It must drive him crazy, keeping up the blind act during the day. Pretending to need other people's eyes when he can read more than everyone here with a pair of working eyes. _

"That's a yes, if you were wondering. Gotta keep acting the way everyone expects me to when I'm not in the suit, you know?"

"I'm a spy, Murdock. Keeping up with people's expectations of who I am is how I stay alive."

Together they'd reached the other side of the street, continuing down the busy sidewalk. A minute later, and they reach the entry of a park, a bandstand off to one side filling the air with music. 

"C'mon, there's a bench over there. It's a spot my friend Clint told me about; something about the acoustics of the park making it the best spot for listening."

"That's- I can already hear the quality changing. Is he also, you know. . ?" He waves one hand at his face. 

"Nah, he's mostly deaf, the acoustics pick up better in his hearing aids."

"And he likes music also?"

"I'm not really sure, the man's a human garbage fire fuelled by coffee and spite. He's on my team, the archer I told you about. He lives down in Bed-Stuy now, if you can call it living in the wreck of a building he's got. Still, he's my best friend and we've saved each other's lives more times than we care to remember."

"You two fight together? I've never- it's been a long time since I had anyone who'd actually have my back when I - when I do what I do." 

Sitting down on the metal bench half-hidden beneath the trees, they spread out the food and ate in silence, save for the occasional comment about how perfect it all was. It's not until they're both holding a cupcake that Matt grins over at her. There's a bit of icing on the tip of his nose, and she resists the urge to just reach over and wipe it off. 

"Nat, this has. . . has been perfect. What we do, what I do, I've let myself become so focused on saving my city, saving the people I care about, that I've forgotten what it is I'm actually fighting for. What life outside of the constant battle can be. I still have my two best friends, but they don't know- they can't know. . ."

"They can't know what it's like in this life. I understand. It took me years, but I finally found the family I never had, and they're my team who fights with me now and don't want to imagine who I'd be now without them. Still, just seeing them, all these normal, happy people here. . ."

"It's something we could never have in this life, right? We were both picked as kids to be soldiers in someone else's war, and now that it's done. . ."

"We're both still fighting, just not who we thought we'd be." 

"I didn't want to listen for a long time, but I think what my friend tried telling me was that there's no point in doing all this. . . stuff we do, if the people we're fighting for, the ones who care about us also, if they're left alone at the end of the battle because we tried to be stoic heroes and- and didn't make it. Growing up alone, after my Dad died, I- I stopped assuming there were people around who cared about me, needed me as much as I needed them, and even now after I have people around me again, I act like I'm still alone and they had to remind me how my trying to protect them by putting myself in danger just makes them scared for me." 

She nods in understanding. "Where I grew up. . . it was everyone for herself, and the person I was, the things I did. . . it took me a long time and a lot of good friends to become who I am now, and to fight to balance out the wrong I did before. It took New York almost being obliterated in an alien invasion for me to find a family, and now that we've saved the world again. . ."

"It's time to see all the people you've saved? Everyone you've helped?"

"Hey, you've saved a lot of folks yourself, Murdock."

"This isn't Hell's Kitchen, but this has been a perfect day, just being with you and remembering it is we fight for." 

"You too, Matt. I almost don't want this to end, really."

"We'll have to go back eventually, you know. They'll need us again, to fight some new danger."

"There'll always be something new, they can deal with it without us for at least one day." Leaning in, she flicks the dollop of icing away. 

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice that."

"Oh I noticed it, I just wanted to know if you knew I noticed or not"

"Heh." He grins at her before slipping his glasses off, pocketing them. For a long moment, they're both silent again, listening to the sounds of people enjoying the park and the music in the background. 

"You sure they'll be ok without us?"

"They'll be fine, red. There are other heroes out there to step in now, we don't have do shoulder it all alone."

"When- when I was a boy, the priest would always talk about Paradise, about Heaven as this promised reward after death, this place 'with no crying, no dying, and no pain', and I think I can finally imagine it, with us, here, in this park today."

"You calling this park Heaven? Never thought I'd make it there myself, personally."

"Hey, if I can make it, I'm taking you up with me. There aren't many people I'd want to do this forever with, you know." 

"You know, that's possibly one of the nicest things anyone's ever told me? Forever. I think I like the sound of that."

"They will need us again, right? We can't actually stay in this park past dark, you know."

"Hey, we'll be there when they need us, ready to fight the fight again." The remains of their food tucked back in the bag under the bench, she leaned over, dropping her head onto the jacket-covered shoulder beside her. "But don't talk about that now, let's enjoy our paradise while we're here."

"You think today could last forever, Nat?"

"I don't know, Red, but we can try to make it. If not, we're at least not alone anymore." His fingers find her hand beside his leg, and they quietly link between them. "I think I like the sound of that, too. Forever."

"Forever."

"Think we can make it?"

"They'll have to fight us to stop us."

"It'd be a forever worth us fighting for."

"And then no more fighting. Forever."

"Forever."

And around them, the band played and people ran with dogs and families sat on the grass enjoying the sunlight. In the shade of a tree, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the ex-agent sat together in an afternoon that, for all it mattered to them, stretched on, and on, and on until they'd be needed again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost crying at that ending there, y'all. So much has changed in the past four years, for the characters, for their worlds, and for me and my writing style.  
I've spent the past month or so writing screenplay format for a MA program I hadn't dreamed of applying for when this fic was started, and on a different continent. It's a different format, so it feels weird going back to writing prose again, and it's taking a while to go back to my old style. Writing their voices was hard to go back to, at first, but then Matt started talking and suddenly it felt like I had his voice better than I did way back when.  
Now it's done, and with with the Netflix universe done, and whatever the hell the MCU is gonna do with Nat in the future, I decided to give these two a happy day together that could be an eternity, and they'll always be waiting for us to visit or need them again.


End file.
